Sweet Dreams
by Evita the Akita
Summary: How is it that all my life, my dreams stay dreams while all my nightmares come true? Lydigar. Spoilers for The Art of Deception.


_**Veni Scripsi Vici**_

**NOTES****: In light of the untimely death of the most interesting woman on the show, and in light of the fact that there are, um, no Lydigar fics, (???) I wrote this. Expect more Edgar/Lydigar fics from me in due course. Reviews are encouraged and appreciated. Rated for brief mild language and subject matter.**

**Sweet Dreams**

Why is it that all my life, my dreams stay dreams while all my nightmares come true?

Samuel's the one that called me. Her name came up, but his voice, _Samuel's_, of all people, was the one that answered me. And I was already too late. I'd been thinking about her right up until the call, and she'd already been…it had already been twenty minutes. What had I been doing while she– She… What had I been doing…_while_? I'd been dreaming again. You don't have to sleep to dream, and I'd been lost in my useless daydreams. Dreams of her and I reuniting. Her and I kissing, laughing, making love, cramming as much conversation as possible into the time it takes for a ferris wheel to revolve… Useless. All of it…useless.

I said I'd come back. I promised I'd come back, and I failed. I spent too much time trying to think of a way when I should've been just…_trying_. What happened? I dreamed, I waited, I trusted people who don't understand us, and now I'm too late.

One of Eli was waiting for me outside the carnival to bring me in. This place used to be my home. Now, I'm escorted in like a stranger. I ran from him as soon as I was inside. I ran to her.

She's so beautiful. Her face is so imperfect. Her strong eyebrows, the shape of her nose, her muddy eyes – it's all so atypical…and gorgeous. Her dirty-blonde hair is and always will be in its natural waves, almost never tied back. She's wearing the dress; the white one I bought for her birthday. When she wore it, I thought she looked like a bizarre kind of angel, like she was supposed to be an angel but let herself stray a bit. I love that. It was imperfection again. It's that quietly tainted quality about her that's so _real_. I got her the dress because she hardly ever wears white, and around the time, I'd gotten into the habit of imagining how she'd look in a white dress. A dream.

In the original dream, there'd been a question following the first trying on of the dress. When the dream became real, there was no question. By the time I'd worked up any bravery, my friend and leader had died and his brother was exploiting us both and trying to push me away from her. Any dreams of happiness had to be put on hold until he stopped making us feel threatened in our own home, until the two of us could get all of our secrets, past and present, into the open…until I stopped finding her half-naked in his trailer as if telling the future through tattoos on your bare back were the most mundane activity in the world.

Sometimes when I saw her like that, I'd run. I'd put my attention on target practice and try not to imagine Samuel's face at the center of every bull's-eye. She'd come find me later; she'd wordlessly hold my hands and see, probably better than I could, how it all hurt me. Her hand is cold now. It's okay… Don't worry, love. I'll keep it warm.

He let this happen. The manipulative, lying creep let it happen. He says he wants to protect us, but he's leading them all to ruin. He doesn't care about protecting me anymore. I'm just a scapegoat. I'm a way to let him get away with murder. He'll murder us all, somehow. I do congratulate him, though. He's managed one murder that we're both responsible for.

He betrayed us, all of us, months ago. No one but she and I saw it, though. And now they all have to rely on him for protection from the agents. The agents who also betrayed us. Seeing them confronted with two threats, one seen, one unseen, I worry for my family. I will do what I can to protect them. I won't promise her that her – that her… I won't say that it wasn't in vain. Of course it was in vain. I won't promise to avenge her. There is no vengeance for this. She's still… Still… Things don't work like they do in adventure films. Vengeance wouldn't be a victory, and the promise of it wouldn't be noble. And, as I've discovered, I'm shit with promises anyway.

I can't give any more promises. What I can do is whisper at her ear. _Sweet dreams. Enjoy yours, because I don't think I'll have any anymore._


End file.
